Frank Regan in words

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The Journey

A tattoo of scars
Draws a map of how I’ve sinned.
It shows the route that I have travelled
In my journey on Earth, from birth until today.
Continents drawn contain the highest peaks
Where eagles dwell, then swoop down into
Vast valleys of despair lit only by lights absence.
There are islands of love here and there
Set adrift on barren seas.
While monsters lurk beneath the waves
As ocean tides rise and fall
With the pulsing of my heart.
With this tattoo of scars
I travel; on a path mapped by
This cartography of skin.

Like this:

There is a gap in this virtual life.
A black hole in the centre of perfection,
An absence in the heart of my world.
And perhaps this shadow, is for your silhouette to fill.
Or perhaps it is for teardrops and stardust instead.
Maybe the void gets filled by the journey.
Maybe this nothing needs to get broken. Reshaped. Reborn.
Perhaps it gets forged by the fire.
A burning passion, assuaged, a million one-nights.
But at times when I listen in silence
Or forget the worries and just laugh.
Forget my worries and let go.
SCREAMING out at the top of my lungs!
And wondering if it is not in the spaces instead,
Those gaps themselves, that are making me whole.

A tattoo of scars
Draws a map of how I’ve sinned.
It shows the route that I have travelled
In my journey on Earth, from birth until today.
Continents drawn contain the highest peaks
Where eagles dwell, then swoop down into
Vast valleys of despair lit only by lights absence.
There are islands of love here and there
Set adrift on barren seas.
While monsters lurk beneath the waves
As ocean tides rise and fall
With the pulsing of my heart.
With this tattoo of scars
I travel; on a path mapped by
This cartography of skin.

Like this:

It is an illusion
But then so much is these days.
…
A journey,
Not a destination.
…
Because you’ll find it
Where you don’t expect it.
In the little stops
Scattered like raindrops
Off the path
And out of your way.